


we walk the sun as we go

by luninosity



Series: we walk the sun [2]
Category: Actor RPF, Captain America (Movies) RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Breathplay, Cat/Human Hybrids, Collars, Comfort Sex, Couch Sex, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, Happy Ending, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Past Kidnapping, Porn with Feelings, True Love, all only mentioned in discussion, cat!Sebastian, cuddly bdsm, in the past though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 05:31:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6143053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luninosity/pseuds/luninosity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and his kitten and lots of comfort sex and Sebastian incontrovertibly belonging to Chris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we walk the sun as we go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ViperSeven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViperSeven/gifts).



> I don't even know where this came from, guys. But I'm pretty sure it's Viper's fault. *hearts*
> 
> Title from the Atlas Genius song "The City We Grow."
> 
> Also **note the warnings that both are and are not in play** : while Seb was, about two years previously, kidnapped and forced through three days of genetic modification, he was *not* used for sex; that was in the plan, but he managed to get away before that. Also of note: he had sort of playfully been joking about wanting kitten ears anyway, because people do stuff like that for fun in this sci-fi AU, but obviously when it happened it wasn't his choice. Also also, yes, he and Chris were already in a consensual BDSM relationship, and still are, somewhat more carefully now but absolutely wanting it.

Chris comes home late—he’d been out having meetings with producers and casting directors, planning out his third directorial effort—and slightly tipsy but pleased: pleased at the studio’s commitment to his superhero project, pleased at the cool crisp tingle of night air on his skin and the toasty buzz of good beer on his tongue, pleased above all that he can open the door and walk in and find Sebastian there sleeping.  
  
Still incredible. Still amazing. Still the most astonishing and wondrous sensation in his heart, in his gut. Swooping and fond.  
  
The lights’re on but low; the holographic television’s flickering but muted. The landscape of New York in the year 2033 glitters beyond the window of their penthouse; Chris’d had the air-taxi drop him off on the rooftop patio above in case the noise woke Sebastian. He kicks off his shoes at the door, smiling: thinking about Sebastian.  
  
Who’s curled up on their sofa; curled into a kitten-ball with one long leg sticking out, awkwardly dangling off the edge of a cushion, and Chris grins at him for a minute. Stupidly in love. Head over heels. Every sight of Seb, and his heart wants to leap out of his chest and throw itself into those graceful hands.  
  
Sebastian’s sleeping because Sebastian’s exhausted; kittens do sleep a lot, but also Seb’s only a couple of days out of heat. Chris both thoroughly enjoys and loathes that monthly occurrence and doesn’t know how to sort out those complicated feelings. Sebastian, being Sebastian and hence startlingly practical under the day-to-day enthusiasm for whipped cream and Star Wars novels, says he doesn’t have to: it _is_ complicated, and that’s okay. They’re coping.  
  
Chris sits down beside him. One of Seb’s ears twitches: delicate cat-feature peeking out from loose dark hair. He doesn’t stir, though. He’s wearing one of Chris’s old t-shirts, dark blue and worn soft by washing, and his own sweatpants, because those accommodate his tail. Chris wants to reach out, wants to stroke him: a gentle petting, a hand on his back, a rub at the base of that tail, which’ll make Seb pliant and blissful.  
  
He holds back, because he knows about two years ago and kidnappings and nonconsensual genetic modification. He knows about Seb and being unexpectedly touched.  
  
He says softly, “Hey, kitten.”  
  
Sebastian yawns and blinks at him, at the sound of his voice. His pupils aren’t quite human anymore either. His eyes remain that impossible extraordinary shade, shimmering between opal-grey and winter-blue and sparkles of aquamarine, entrancing Chris’s heart as ever. His voice is sleep-rough and cuddly and has an instantaneous effect on Chris’s body, which wants to either fuck him into oblivion or snuggle him for eternity. “Chris?”  
  
“Hi,” Chris agrees, and then is surprised: Seb wriggles around without apparently thinking too much and drapes himself across Chris’s lap. Sebastian’d practically been part cat even before the terrible ordeal and the modifications, and would’ve climbed contentedly onto Chris once upon a time anyway; they’ve been seeing glimpses of that again, gradually.  
  
Given this invitation, he starts with the petting, the way he wants to. Scratches behind soft kitten-ears, scratches at the back of Seb’s neck. Long slow strokes along Seb’s spine, and down to the base of that tail, which makes Sebastian stretch luxuriously against him. “Yes, please…”  
  
“Nice?”  
  
“Indubitably. How’d your meeting go?”  
  
“Good, I think. We’ve got the budget to bring in some good people. Some of the best fourth-dimensional effects artists around, awesome cast—we’ll ask Robert Downey Jr if he’s in—and of course everyone loves your script.”  
  
“Of course they do.” Sebastian turns slightly so that Chris can pet more places. He’s purring quietly. The comment’s half acceptance and half a joke: Seb never takes anyone liking his work for granted, but he and Chris’d both _known_ this screenplay was something special. “Mmm…I love your hands, have I told you? Right there…I was working on something new.”  
  
“Another movie?”  
  
Sebastian hesitates, starts to sit up; Chris knows this defensive tactic too well, and coaxes him back down with a hand at the nape of his neck, heavy and protective, sparking both the kitten-instinct to go limp and boneless under a parent’s care and Seb’s natural inclination to behave and be good for a dominant partner.  
  
That’s always been true, too, that last. Chris loves him: loves the sweetness and the playful sense of humor and the genuine depth of his desire to please. Sebastian would make the world happy if he could. Even now.  
  
He rubs his thumb over the vulnerable column of that throat. Seb makes a contented drowsy noise and tips his head for better access, getting a little unfocused, body shifting. He’s just out of heat but still entirely willing to have sex; they can and do, these days, most days. Right now he’ll be lingeringly sensitive and readily aroused, tender and tired and easy to work open and tease and keep on the edge for hours, overstimulated and crying in small kitten-sounds and coming over and over, coming dry even after he’s spent, at the movement of Chris’s cock or hand or a toy inside him.  
  
“Not yet,” Chris says. His jeans feel tighter. But this matters. “Tell me.”  
  
“Not a movie.” Sleepy and truthful. “A…book? Semi-fictional. I don’t know. I thought—my therapist did suggest, some time ago, that a journal would help, I know you know, you bought me one…and I thought, well, if I’m keeping track of my reactions and learning to manage instincts anyway…I _am_ a writer.” A hint of amusement glints along the words like pirate’s treasure: buried deep and watery, but true gold. “I turn my personal trauma into a romance novel.”  
  
Chris adores him. Adores that courage. Isn’t worthy of that big heart. Somehow has it anyway, placed into his care. He’ll never, never, let Sebastian be hurt again. He swears that to the holographic television, which is showing a remastered old Star Trek video; he swears it to the night and the wry quirk of Sebastian’s left ear.  
  
Some people engage in genetic modification for fun; it’s a recreational outlet these days. Sebastian’d even laughingly considered cat ears once before.  
  
Sebastian hadn’t had a choice, in the end. As ever the thought of the kidnapping, those agonizing three days before the holonet message Seb’d managed to send and the subsequent bursting-in of police, burns a hole in Chris’s stomach. “You…can write about it?”  
  
“No,” Sebastian says. “But I can write about, oh, Simon and Charles and their falling in love despite fucking awful past experiences and finding happy endings.” His expression’s exaggeratedly limpid over a wellspring of quiet resolve. He extends fingertips, deliberately pokes Chris in the ribs with one retractable claw. Then smiles angelically.  
  
“Oh really,” Chris says back, and puts more force—not much, but enough—into the hand at his throat, and rubs the delicate spot by his tail in earnest, until Seb’s hips lift and wriggle and his eyes get half-closed and dreamy. Chris slips the hand between his legs, finds his cock: stiffening rapidly under sweatpants, and eager, ready to be played with. Seb’s purring gets louder.  
  
Chris hooks a finger under those sweatpants, testing. Sebastian moans his name, and then, “Yes, Chris, yes please,” which is certainly encouraging permission, so Chris strips him naked, keeping him there across Chris’s lap on the couch when done. Seb’s tail, soft and dark brown and pettable as his hair, lashes and loops around Chris’s wrist; Chris says fondly, “Impatient?” and takes Seb’s sweet little cock in hand again.  
  
Sebastian’s cock’s slightly smaller now but thick and heavy and perfectly functional; he fits into Chris’s hand, and Chris can handle him, close fingers around him, toy with the delicious size of him. Seb had been briefly embarrassed—not wanting Chris to see him, to touch him—but Chris has been convincing him patiently that this is a good thing, a turn-on, even: Chris’s big hands fondling his perfect length, cupping him gently, taking care of him. Sebastian still blushes but has admitted to liking that too, being small and easily surrounded by Chris’s hands and mouth, worshipped and cherished and petted until he comes from caresses alone.  
  
Chris right now really wants to be inside him, though, wants to get closer and closer yet, until their souls’re entwined and everything he breathes is Sebastian. He strokes Seb’s back, and Seb shivers, too sensitive, skin rippling. He pets bare skin as Seb lies over his lap, and Sebastian whimpers and rocks hips forward: into the couch, into Chris’s thigh. Chris pets him and pets him and Sebastian practically falls apart, making helpless broken mews and purrs and cries, begging with his whole body, lost in sensation.  
  
“You want me, kitten?” He rubs fingers over Sebastian’s hole: pink and furled, it flutters at the touch. Sebastian’s body’s made to take a cock now, and grows wet for him as he teases tight muscle with the press of a thumb, a push inside. Some opening-up’s still required, but even out of heat Seb will become slick as silk under caresses. Heat makes him insatiable and desperate to be mounted and stuffed full; Chris thinks again about those complicated feelings and consent and what a kidnapper would’ve planned to do with that mindless craving if rescue hadn’t arrived in time, but firmly banishes those thoughts. This, here and now, is Sebastian wanting him.  
  
He checks in again, because Seb hasn’t answered. “Sebastian? Everything okay?”  
  
“Please,” Sebastian moans. “Chris—yes, yes, please fuck me, I need it, I need _you_ , please…”  
  
“Not too tired? Or sore? I can stop.”  
  
“No, no—” Seb actually twists around to glare at him, all affronted ears and frustrated desire. “I want you now. I’m tired but you’re going to do most of the work. I’m feeling very emotional and I want you to fuck me until I’m screaming your name and I _know_ I belong to you. I want you to play with my cock and pet my tail and put your hand back on my throat. I know that’s three hands, shut up.”  
  
Chris, his kitten naked and ferocious on his lap, starts laughing.  
  
“I love you,” Sebastian grumbles, sounding put-upon, and brings out the claws again and trails one down Chris’s thigh.  
  
“Hey, these are new jeans—!”  
  
“Take them off, then.”  
  
“So fuckin’ bossy today,” Chris notes cheerfully, “I love it, I love you,” and Sebastian’s ears flatten for a second, then swivel forward: silent commentary on who Seb’d rather have in charge, plus amusement.  
  
Chris hops up and throws his clothes across the apartment—the cleaning bot’ll find them later—and sits back down, pulling Sebastian down atop him. His arms cradle Seb’s slim muscles; he lets Seb duck that head and nuzzle a cheek against his chest, a head-bump of instinct and reassurance. He thrusts hips up, and his erection rubs between Sebastian’s legs, nudging over his hole. Sebastian whines low and pleading and rocks down against him, tail flicking like velvet over Chris’s bare legs, one more inviting sensation that tingles through his bones.  
  
“Got an idea,” Chris tells him, hoarse with want, with love.  
  
“I know you do, I can _feel_ it, I keep asking you to get _on_ with—”  
  
“Not that. Stay put for a sec.”  
  
Sebastian glares, poised above him, tail more annoyed now, body nevertheless slick with need; he’s rubbing himself shamelessly over Chris’s cock, letting the length push against the space where he’s open and wet. His own pretty little cock is flushed and hard and dripping, standing up between them.  
  
Chris twists to one side, grabs his belt. His favorite red one. Sebastian’s eyes narrow. “If you want to use that on my backside we’re going to need to change positions, and I told you I was tired. Not opposed, but tired.”  
  
“Nah.” That’s harder anyway, with the tail. One of those adjustments they’ve made. They can do other things. “You said you wanted my hands on you. And, um. You want a hand here…” He takes Seb’s cock to demonstrate, gives him a leisurely pump. “And here.” A rub at the base of his tail: Seb gasps and arches his back, and fluid dribbles from the tip of his cock, and from his hole, slicking Chris’s length and balls. “But I know you love my hands here too.” He moves the hand, wraps fingers loosely around Seb’s neck, gets a moan. Sebastian’s trembling now, on the brink of too much stimulation, eyes hazy with confusion about which to beg for.  
  
“Kitten,” Chris says, steadying his head when it threatens to loll. “You with me?—okay, good. So we, um. We haven’t really, um. Talked about this. Since. But. You’re mine, you always will be, and, um. I love you.” He runs out of words. Just takes his belt and loops it carefully around Sebastian’s throat.  
  
Sebastian’s eyes go wide. Astonishment and a shining _yes!_ cutting through clouds of bliss. He’s beautiful, all kitten-ears and soft dark hair and lean muscle outlined by setting sun, balanced above Chris on their sofa, the one they bought together.  
  
“I’ll buy you a real collar,” Chris whispers, mouth dry, watching those eyes, “if you want that. For now, for right now, is this okay?” and he tugs lightly at his belt, red stripe encircling pale skin.  
  
“Oh _god_ ,” Sebastian moans, and he’s moving against Chris as if he can’t not, as if he’s back in heat and pleading to be claimed; but when their eyes meet he’s almost laughing, the kind of laughter that billows out from sheer radiant joy. “Yes, yes, to all of it—yes I’m yours, yes I want your collar, yes this is splendid, Chris, oh, Chris, will you please fuck me already—”  
  
And they’re okay. And everything’s okay: the streaming colors of the sunset that spill tears of recovered delight, the way Chris’s left knee’s kind of getting squashed into sofa-cushions, the way the belt-end dangles meaningfully against Sebastian’s naked body. Happiness floods the room, and Chris grabs Seb’s hips and lifts a fraction and, oh, there—he’s sliding in and moving inside Sebastian, who cries out and clenches around him, lovely hot slick muscle gripping his length—  
  
He leaves his belt wrapped around Seb’s throat, a talisman. He keeps one hand at the base of Seb’s tail, steadying them and stroking that quivering spot. He takes Seb’s cock in the other hand, watching the sweet little stiffness appear and disappear with each pump of his fist.  
  
Sebastian falls apart around him, above him. Shuddering, crying out, writhing in unthinking euphoria. Chris tells him to come but he’s already there, back arching, mouth open, body tightening and growing taut and trembling through it. Milky fluid spurts from his cock, over Chris’s fingers and palm, wave after wave; Chris just plays with his cock more, hand wetter now, strokes messy and just the good side of too much, and Sebastian cries out and can’t seem to stop moving, thrusting into Chris’s loose grip over and over as if that’s all he can do. His body clenches and releases, rhythmic pulses of ecstasy around Chris’s length inside him.  
  
Chris teases him mercilessly. Chris plants feet on the cushion and fucks up into him, thrusting hard, pounding that spot. Sebastian wails, feline and helpless, and shudders through another orgasm, blindly. Chris wonders fleetingly if this is some holdover from heat after all, but it’s damn good and Seb did say yes emphatically, yes to this, to everything. To him.  
  
He pets Sebastian in the most sensitive shivering places, and Sebastian makes a sound that’s both a tiny kitten-cry and Chris’s name, and collapses atop him, a heavy exhausted weight that nevertheless continues to twitch and whimper and squirm under ceaseless ministrations. Chris kisses his forehead and murmurs soothing noises and feels his own body surge with need and pride.  
  
He did this. He took Sebastian into this glorious blissful daze, this place where Seb’s wholly limp and malleable, completely trusting and given over to Chris’s care. He gave Sebastian this, with his belt around Seb’s neck and his hands on Seb’s beautiful body and his cock buried inside Seb’s heat.  
  
At that thought he has to move, can’t wait, can’t hold back, and his thrusts become sharper and faster as the sensations take over, as he plunges into Seb over and over, the heart of the place where they’re joined, where he can feel how wet and stretched Sebastian is for him as Chris takes him and claims him—  
  
Sebastian sobs his name, helpless and sweet, lost and wrecked and found, cradled close against Chris’s chest, lying atop him, body responding instinctively, deliriously, each time Chris thrusts up into him.  
  
That sound, that sob of his name, catches in his chest and breaks him open, and he comes in a white-hot wave of love and need, a vast unending tidal sweep that picks him up and carries him away.  
  
Once he can think again, he pries eyes open. Herculean effort. Lassitude melting his bones to golden puddles. Sebastian’s boneless and relaxed and warm atop him, mostly asleep, whimpering faintly when Chris shifts inside him and taps fingers over his cock. The television’s gone to screensaver, tropical fish snickering in a friendly way at their laziness. Chris’s body thrums happily, worn out.  
  
“Seb?” he mumbles. “Kitten?” Because this is important.  
  
“Shut up,” Sebastian murmurs back around a yawn. “ ’m not awake.”  
  
Chris squints at him, fuzzy. Sebastian picks up his head—he’d been napping, cheek pillowed on his hand and Chris’s chest—and meets Chris’s gaze after a sleepy minute. “I’m fine.”  
  
“Yeah?” His belt’s tangled around Seb’s throat, trapped between their bodies; they realize this at the exact same instant, when Seb tries to adjust position. “Here, fuck, sorry—”  
  
“It’s okay,” Sebastian says, blinking again: surprised cat-pupils, drowsy and curious but unwilling to expend effort at the moment. “I…liked that. The tug on it, just now. And all of it. You said…did you mean it, about…”  
  
“Buying you a collar?” He squirms around so he can engulf his kitten in both arms and legs. Thoroughly wrapped up in him. Kept safe. Seb likes that feeling, he knows. He’s careful of the tail, though it has a decent sense of self-preservation and twitches out of the way. The night’s sex-drenched and wonderful, as is their couch, which thank the universe is self-cleaning and doesn’t mind. He’s pretty sure it loves Sebastian and wants nothing but Seb’s happiness, anyway.  
  
He tips his head up to bump his nose into Sebastian’s, asking clumsily. “You’d want that?”  
  
“I thought I said yes,” Sebastian points out, evidently having recovered enough from radiant oblivion to be sarcastic. Well, good for him; Chris can barely form words. And clearly will have to try harder next time. It’s a challenge. Obviously. “I’ll say it again. Yes.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Sebastian’s eyes get softer, warmer, glowing with emotions too huge and powerful to be named. Chris lies sprawled on the sofa with those eyes gazing down at him, breathless.  
  
“Yeah,” Sebastian purrs, a literal rumble behind the word, exultant and serene, “I’m pretty sure I enjoy being your kitten, Chris, so buy me a collar so I can wear it for you,” and throws a hint of important happy weight, a weight like hard-won battles and calm acceptance and tremulous joy, onto the _your;_ so Chris says fervently, “I love you,” and his voice mingles and twines with Sebastian’s because they’re saying the same words at the same time.

**Author's Note:**

> Now with ADORABLE kitten!Seb art by [Digital_Graphite](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Digital_Graphite/pseuds/Digital_Graphite) [over here](https://www.instagram.com/p/BCjmKPAKcmE/) and by [hopeless-- geek](http://hopeless--geek.tumblr.com/) [over here](http://hopeless--geek.tumblr.com/post/140601538775/sebastian-stan-kitty-basking-in-the-sun-based). Enjoy!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Stuck Behind the Moon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6248845) by [Kellyscams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kellyscams/pseuds/Kellyscams)
  * [all of these stars will guide us home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7721497) by [Kellyscams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kellyscams/pseuds/Kellyscams)




End file.
